


From the Diaries of a Forgotten Soldier

by Tsuki_Amano



Series: 365 Stucky Shots [33]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not canon-compliant, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:10:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki_Amano/pseuds/Tsuki_Amano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look.</p><p>Steve has enough to deal with between surviving higher education without his lungs caving in, keeping his best friend from getting kidnapped (again, damnit Tony) and making sure the crappy apartment he lives in doesn't fall on his head.</p><p>Which is why when he accidentally stumbles onto the diary of Captain America, he's ready to throw it back into the alley where he found it.</p><p>Or that story where Bucky was Captain America and Steve Rogers is a scrawny punk in the 21st century who just wants to be an artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_From the Diaries of a Forgotten Soldier_

**On the 4 th of March, 1945, Captain America brought down the Valkyrie in the icy waters near Greenland to safeguard the American people. He was never heard from again. He died a hero for his country and the American people never forgot the sacrifices he made for them. Now almost 60 years later, a young man by the name of Steve Rogers stumbles across a worn leather journal hidden away in an old building. **

**The name on the book reads, ‘Property of James B. Barnes’.**

**Steve Rogers doesn’t quite know it yet, but what he’s found may very well change the course of history.**

**_Chapter 1:_ **

It’s a miserably hot afternoon. The sun is blazing in a cloudless sky and the pavements are scorching from the heat. School is out for the summer so most of the kids are in the park or at the beach enjoying the sunny day while their harried mothers ply them with juice and sunscreen. The working classes wipe their brows and gaze enviously out the windows as they hope the weather will persist to the weekend.

A bead of sweat trickles down the nape of his neck and Steve reaches up to wipe it off, squirming at the sensation. He darts up the stairs, hoping he doesn’t get a wheeze by the time he reaches his apartment. Of course Mr. Turner hadn’t fixed the elevator, nothing short of the President coming to visit would convince him to get that beat up contraption fixed. Still it would be nice not to have to carry all his college books and laptop up three flights of steps every day.

He’s barely locked the apartment door behind him when his phone rings and he answers it, trying to mask his heavy breathing. He must do a piss-poor job of it, because on the other end, his mother sighs and says, “ _Steven Grant Rogers_ , I thought you said you were dropping that last class of yours and you were going to start heading back earlier.”

“Ma, I told you I’d drop it if I couldn’t take it! I need that class, it’s really important to me.”

“You know what’s important _to me_? Your health, that’s what!”

“Ma, I’ll be fine, I promise.”

His mother lets out an exasperated sigh before letting the issue go and changing the topic. Before she puts the phone down, she says, “I love you, even if you are the most stubborn kid this side of Brooklyn.”

“I love you too Ma.”

He’s eating dinner when Sam comes back. Judging by the love-struck look on his face he’s had a good date with Riley. Steve puts on his best shit-eating grin and stares at Sam who flips him the bird before going into his room. Laughing and shaking his head, he finishes and washes his dishes before deciding to take out the trash.

Their building is old and dilapidated, Sam often jokes that it’s held up by prayers and good wishes alone. It’s not the most well-lit of buildings as well, which is why it’s completely understandable when Steve trips over a stack of what sounds like books as he’s heading back from the dumpster.

He rubs his sore knee, hoping that he hasn’t torn his jeans because there’s no way he can afford to buy a new pair just yet. He gets up and gingerly tests his ankle, so far, nothing seems to be sprained which he’ll take as a blessing. Walking back to check what he had tripped over, he finds a small stack of what appears to be five or six books. He squints, but the combination of his poor eyesight and poor lighting means he can’t make out anything at all.

He can vaguely make out that some of the books are calendars and old phone books, but one of them catches his eye. From what little detail he can make out, he can tell it’s leather bound, thick and heavy, the craftsmanship on it doesn’t feel like anything that’s from this decade at the very least. He’s about to put it back, but something about it keeps him from placing it back on the ground and instead he tucks it close to himself and carries it inside.

Calling out to Sam, he explains that he’s turning in early for the night. There’s no way he can explain this to Sam, not without seeming completely crazy, but there’s something about the journal that’s almost magnetic, preventing him from tossing it out.

Once he’s in the privacy of his own room, he pulls it out and sits at his desk, peering at it closely under his table desk light.

It’s old, he can tell that from a first glance. The brown leather is weathered and cracking at some points. The original strap that was used to hold the covers together is tied down by what, on closer inspection looks like an old belt, the belt buckle dulled with age.

Tracing his finger down the spine, he notes the delicate gold thread that’s used to line the spine, and the faded gold leaf that embosses the spine. The pattern on the cover is delicate; it’s a tree, lined with the same gold thread, which arches over the entire cover. The leaves seem to be engraved into the leather, and as Steve looks at the pages, yellowed with age, the hair on his arms rise. This journal is a lot older than he expected. He should just put it back where he found it, there’s no reason for him to go rooting through some stranger’s personal effects.

He doesn’t even know what possessed him to pick it up in the first place. He must have been more tired than he thought, the desire for an adventure outweighing his common sense. His fingers keep gliding along the gold thread, contemplating whether to see who the journal belonged to or to throw it away. He’s close to tossing it out, when his phone buzzes to the side of him.

A glance at his caller ID has him sighing. It’s Tony.

The fact he’s calling him at this time of night generally doesn’t mean good things.

“How drunk are you?” he asks, already half into a jacket.

“Steeeeeve! Buddy, pal, light of my life!” Tony’s excited voice crows on the other end of the line and Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. It sounds like Tony’s already gotten into the vodka, which is unusual because it’s pretty early for that.

“Tony, where are you?” he asks worriedly, shoving his feet into his worn trainers.

His friend hiccups and laughs, “I’m at the park, it’s great! You should come, we can have a party!”

“That sounds good Tony, just stay where you are ok? And don’t talk to anyone, I’m on my way. And please, put down the alcohol.”

Sam comes out when he’s picking up his keys, bleary-eyed and wearing just a pair of track pants. He blinks at him tiredly and says, rather than asks, “Tony?”

“Tony.” Steve confirms.

“Man, that guy just can’t catch a break can he?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Steve says softly.

Tony’s probably his closest friend, they’ve known each other since they were kids. He’d met Tony when he was admitted to the children’s ward, with another bout of pneumonia. Tony was there with his mother, who’d come down to visit her charity. At the time, Steve was too young to connect the fact the dots between Tony’s mother’s name and the name of the hospital.

He’d been in bed, re-reading a well-worn copy of a comic book that he brought every time he came in, when a small boy had wandered into his room. Steve watched wide-eyed as the well-dressed boy walked in, looking for all the world as though he was completely lost. (It was only later that he’d learn that Tony was actually lost. His mother had lost sight of him ages ago, what he’d learn was not a very unusual event. She’d apparently been not too concerned by the fact her six year old son was ambling around the corridors of the hospital all alone.)

The boy’s eyes widen when they catch sight of Steve, lying in bed with an IV hooked up to his arm.

“Hi,” Steve says warily, noting the fact that the boy looks terrified now, and his eyes, which already looked faintly red-rimmed, were now glassy again, “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

“I’m Tony,” he says quietly.

“Are you ok?”

“I can’t find my mum.” Tony sniffles.

“Well, my ma will be back in a while, she’s a nurse here. You can stay with me if you want and then when she comes back, she can help you find your mom.”

That simple childhood logic is enough to convince them and Tony nods. He stands in the corner, fidgeting till Steve pats the corner of the bed with a huff. Before he knows it, the older boy has clambered onto the bed with him.

He looks sort of frightened of Steve, and Steve explains to him that he’s sick, but that it’s not anything new.  He changes the topic before it can get too morbid, preferring instead to talk about cartoons. Tony looks confused when he brings up the funnies that appear in the papers every day. When he’s prompted, he says, “Dad doesn’t like reading them. He says they’re not important and it’s a waste of time to read something that doesn’t help people.”

All at once, Steve feels a rush of dislike for the man, although it’s irrational because he’s never met him.

“Well, they make me feel better and they make my ma laugh, so they can’t be useless.” Steve says scowling. He’d cross his arms but he really can’t now. And with a single-mindedness of a four-year old mission, he begins to explain all the nuances of the comic series to Tony.

And that’s how Sarah finds them, when she comes to check on Steve when her shift is done, with Tony hanging on to every word that Steve is saying and her son talking softly but excitedly to Tony.

She’s not too concerned about Steve getting sick at this point, he’s mostly recovered and now the only reason she’s still keeping him in the hospital is for observation and so that she can keep an eye on him even though she needs to pull late-night shifts. She hasn’t seen her son so excited in ages, with how small he is and how ill he gets, he barely has any friends. She does her best, but sometimes she feels guilty because he’s inherited her weak constitution.

No, what concerns her is the fact that the boy sitting with her son is clearly Tony Stark, Maria Stark’s young son. She had met the woman a few minutes ago and she was every bit as lovely as the papers had said. Beautiful and graceful, she was polite to all the hospital staff she met. But it had made Sarah uncomfortable when one of the nurses had asked her where her son was, and she had glibly responded that she didn’t know.

“He’s probably wandered off somewhere; he’s a lot like his father, that boy. They both have adventurous spirits you know. But he’ll turn up eventually.”

“Hello Stevie,” Sarah says gently, “Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend.”

Tony leaps up, flushing and stammers out an apology to the woman.

Laughing she walks up to him and takes his hand. “No that’s alright, but your mother’s going to be wondering where you are isn’t she?”

Internally, she winces at the lie, but she smiles at the way Tony’s face lights up at her words.

“Do you know where my mom is?” he asks excitedly.

“Aye, I’m sure it won’t be hard to find her.”

Tony turns around and looks at Steve, frowning. “How long till you’ll be better?” he asks. Sarah’s heart breaks a little because she remembers her boy asking her something similar.

“Well, Stevie’ll be out of the hospital soon, in another couple of days if he’s really good.”

“Can he come visit?” Tony asks. “We can play cars at my house and everything!”

“I’d have to talk to your parents first, you need their permission,” she reminds him gently. She’s not sure if she’d like her son going to Stark Manor. She’d heard the rumours about his parents although she has to admit that their son seems entirely fine.

“My parents are never around anyway,” he protests, “I don’t want to leave Steve by himself.”

Behind him, Steve looks shocked. Not too many people were worried about leaving Steve behind usually.

“Well, I’ll be fine soon and then we can play in the park.” Steve says slowly, as though he can’t really believe what’s happening.

And in a way he can’t, because he’s never imagined that anyone would want to wait for him.

His mother tries to hide her smile and she escorts Tony to his mother, but not before he darts back to give Steve a hug and promises him that he’ll see him soon.

As Sarah closes the door to the room, she sees Steve’s bewildered expression and she hopes that Maria will give her assent to this idea.

The park’s almost blissfully empty when Steve gets there and he’s relieved. With the amount of money Tony stands to inherit from his parents, it’s not safe for him to be out and about in the dark, especially if he’s not fully sober. Steve can recall, with no small amount of dread, the times when Tony’d been taken away by people with less than honourable intentions. He’s only hoping that no one had bumped into him in the time Steve took to get here.

The park’s quiet at night, tranquil and almost eerie. His footsteps echo on the cobblestones as he heads down the winding pathway till he reaches a tiny secluded wooded area, next to a weathered stone fountain. Streams of moonlight that filter through the thick canopy of leaves hit the statue, lighting it up and the angel that adorns it stares back at him. He heads around the statue and knows he’ll find Tony, sitting up hunched up at the base of the statue, bent over his phone, fooling around with it or more likely making plans for a new invention.

Sure enough he finds his favourite genius where he expects, his face lit up with bright blue light from his phone screen, a frantic look in his eyes that Steve’s come to associate with inspiration rather than alcohol. He’s relieved to see that the other man is unharmed. He smiles and sits down beside him, bumping their shoulders together gently.

“What’re you making this time?”

“Improvements for that phone I came up with last month,” Tony mutters in that distracted way of his.

“I didn’t think you could improve it,” he says, letting the amazement openly colour his tone, “It seemed perfect when you showed me the first designs for it.”

Tony looks up at him, in that fond exasperated way of his and lets a small smile appear, “While that is flattering, everything has room for improvement. We’ve been through this.”

He taps away at the screen again, and Steve gives him five minutes before the chill of the night air sets in.

“Want to head back to mine and watch a movie?” He asks, trying to keep his tone casual and unaffected.

“Depends on what you’re offering.” They both know Tony doesn’t want to go home.

“Star Wars and Häagen Dazs.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

As Tony packs his things into a beaten up satchel that Steve had got for his 15th birthday, he’s relieved to see that some of the alcohol has worn off. At the very least, Tony’s not singing Bon Jovi in the streets, although getting him to walk in a straight line seems to be an impossible quest.

They’re halfway home, one of Steve’s arms draped firmly around Tony’s shoulders to keep him from careening away, when there’s a lull in Tony’s chatter. Steve takes the chance to ask.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Absolutely not.” Tony automatically spits out.

Steve waits patiently before he says, “It’s dad again. He was already angry about something, I think one of the investors he was banking on for a project of his dropped out at the last minute and you know how he hates changes of plan. I think more than the money, he was relying on the good publicity. But something changed in the evening. He got a phone call, and he went outside to take it because I guess he didn’t want me to overhear. When he came back he was furious. I don’t think I’ve seen him like this since after mom…for a few years.”

“He wasn’t happy about the fact that some of the design ideas I was supposed to finish weren’t done, and I guess this was the final nail in that coffin.”

“What did he say this time?”

“The usual, I should be at least attempting to earn my keep, I’m a massive disappointment and that when I inherit the company, if he allows it, he’ll be amazed if I don’t let it fall into ruin. And then he got really angry and threw the bottle at my head. Let me tell you, I have never been so happy in my life that he has shit aim.” Tony laughs, but it sounds bitter.

Tightening his hold around Tony’s shoulders, Steve says firmly, “He’s wrong you know.”

“We’ve been through this Steve…”

“I know.” Steve cuts in before Tony can deflect what he’s trying to say. “But I’m always going to tell you. You’re the most intelligent, hard-working person I know. And screw your father or anyone else who’s incapable of realising that. He’s lucky to have you as a son and when you take over Stark Industries you’ll make it the best company ever.”

He’s slightly winded by the time he finishes his statement, but Tony’s got that shy smile of his that he only gets when Steve comes out with his speeches. His head is ducked down but he can still make out from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

By the time they get back, Sam’s already gone to sleep. He knows better than to interfere when Tony comes by in the middle of the night. Steve pours Tony a large glass of water and gets him some chips before heading into the kitchen to make popcorn. Even though Sam’s left out a large blanket for him in the living room, Tony still heads into the kitchen, propping himself up on the counter as he watches Steve work.

“You should be sitting down.” Steve observes.

“While you concern is touching, I will have you know I am almost disgustingly sober at this point. I stayed away from the tequila like I promised.”

‘ _I wish you’d stay away from all alcohol_ ,’ the thought passes through Steve’s mind unbidden, and he pushes it away. He’d take whatever small victories he got.

They end up as they always do, curled up on the small ratty couch Steve and Sam found at a garage sale, watching Star Wars. Tony leans into Steve’s side more and more as the movie progresses and by the time they’re an hour into the movie, he’s fast asleep which Steve can tell judging by the soft puffs of breath against his neck. He’s too warm and comfortable to move himself, so he switches off the TV and adjusts the blanket around them both.

As his eyes slip closed, he lets himself drift off, deciding that he’d deal with Tony’s hangover later. He knows how their relationship might look to an outsider, but no matter how fiercely protective Steve is of Tony, all they are is friends. They’d tried changing that once, but mid-way through their date, they’d realised there was no way they could be more than friends.

The next morning, he slips out of Tony’s near death-grip, replacing himself with a couch pillow that Tony proceeds to snuggle into and heads back to his room to take a shower. He passes by Sam who gives him an understanding nod and he just rolls his eyes.

He realises belatedly that he’d not brought any clothes with him into the shower and ties his towel firmly around his waist before heading back into his bedroom. It’s only when he reaches over to his desk to grab his comb that he even remembers the strange journal that he’d found the day before.

When he catches sight of it again, something strikes him as odd. He’d been sure when he’d left; the journal was closed, tied together with the strap and the leather belt that he didn’t want to open at the time. But it’s not closed any longer. The belt is unbuckled and the strap has been pulled apart, leaving the journal lying wide open right at the middle of his desk. He observes almost belatedly that it’s open to the first page and his curiosity wins over.

Leaning over the open pages, he lets himself read what‘s written, squinting because not only has the ink faded with time, but the handwriting is terrible as well.

He can just barely make out the words written with a black fountain pen, which are scrawled at the centre of the page, written by a young hand.

‘ _This diary_ (the word’s been scratched out and replaced with the word _journal_ ) _is the property of James Buchanan Barnes, Brooklyn. Everyone else should keep out! (That means you Becca, don’t think I won’t know if you look at this!’)_

 

* * *

 

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	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally gets his first look at the journal. Meanwhile in London, Howard Stark meets with a mixed group of scientists and agents for what could possibly be a monumental discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this went on hiatus for so long! But now I'm back and trying to establish a regular writing schedule once again

Steve feels like an intruder as he thumbs open the diary ( _journal, his mind corrects_ ). He feels like he ought to return the book to someone, but he doesn’t know to _whom_ he should return it to. He half-heartedly ponders dropping off the book at the University library, after all, it’s a piece of history. But there’s something about it, a magnetic pull if he wants to admit it. ( _He doesn’t, because it sounds like the rambling of someone slowing losing their mind to too many late nights and cups of coffee_ ).

Tony’s still asleep on the couch, he can hear his soft snores as he makes his way to the kitchen to make himself a mug of tea. Sam comes in and quietly grabs a bottle of water before heading out for his classes. Tony needs all the sleep he can get and Steve doesn’t doubt he’d pulled at least one all-nighter before this.

Placing a cup of water, along with some toast and aspirin on the table next to the couch, he makes his way back to his room and sits down in front of the journal.

James, or as he prefers to be called, _Bucky_ , is an eleven-year-old who’s the eldest of four, with three younger sisters. Steve finds himself drawn to the young boy, who’s taken to chronicling his everyday pursuits in his diary. A lot of it is incidental, Bucky talking about going to school, his family life and his friends. There’s a couple of poorly drawn caricatures of the local bullies that has Steve grinning. 

But there’s a darker undertone to his writing, something that stirs up a feeling of unease in the pit of Steve’s stomach. Something that his camomile tea can’t quite quell.

He lets himself get lost in the passages scrawled on the dusty pages.

**_March 11, 1928_ **

_My ma got me this diary (I don’t want to call it a diary, it sounds like something Becca would say) for my birthday. She says she wants me to practice my schoolwork in it, but that’s silly because I have my school books to practice in. Dad doesn’t like it; he says it’s not something a growing boy needs._

**_March 21, 1928_ **

_Ma and Dad are fighting again. The girls are away at Aunty ‘Em’s place for the weekend so it’s not so bad. I think Dad came home drunk again. I’m not supposed to know but they’re real loud. I was going to spend the weekend with my pal Sam, but his kid sister’s (Ruth-Anne) sick so Ma didn’t want me over there. Wonder what’s wrong with her. I heard the adults talking about it, I think they’re taking her to a hospital. They sounded worried. I hafta go, I heard something break._

**_March 24, 1928_ **

_Ruth-Anne passed last night. Ma’s saying that she was too sick and that she went to her home with God (Dad and her had a big fight about that, but I couldn’t understand what it was about). I heard Sam’s parents talking about it though, they’re saying the doctor’s didn’t try hard enough._

_My folks don’t want to talk about it with me, but I think it’s the same thing as how some kids threw rocks at me and Sam the other day and told us to go home._

_It’s not fair._

**_June 30, 1928_ **

_Dad lost his job. He left the house almost three hours ago to go and get a drink but he hasn’t come back. Ma hasn’t stopped crying. I’m taking the girls to Mrs. Jones’ place next door._

**_August 17, 1928_ **

_Sam and I were listening to the radio today. There’s been trouble in some parts of Europe. It seems awfully far away but Ma and Dad came from there. I think a lot of it has to do with some man in Germany. I don’t know a lot more because Mr. Rosen switched off the radio before we could hear anymore. Tomorrow, I’m going to go to the library. They have a big globe there, I want to use it and find out where Hungry is. I’ve never heard of it before and ‘sides, Ma can’t get angry because I’m learning stuff._

**_November 18, 1928_ **

_We had a class test today, about spellings. I got a gold star on mine! Ma gave me an extra 10 cents along with the grocery money to buy some candy for myself. Becca was angry (but don’t tell her, I bought a packet of Milk Duds and a few of these new candies called Reeses for her. I know Ma’s been working on a new dress for her birthday but money’s been tight)._

**_December 25, 1928_ **

_We didn’t do much for Christmas. Dad doesn’t like celebrating Christmas but Ma wants us to fit in. I like it. We couldn’t afford a lot of presents though, but the girls got new dresses and dolls and I got a new coat and some soldier figurines. There weren’t a lot of ornaments we could get cheap from the stores, but Sam and I found some stuff someone had thrown away. They’re kind of cracked in places but Ma painted over them and hung them up. Becca and I threaded some popped corn and made paper snowflakes out of some old newspaper._

_I think we’re going to have chicken stew again but Ma’s making hot chocolate!_

**_December 28, 1928_ **

_Girls are weird. (Becca, Liz and Ruth don’t count. Neither does Ma)._

**_January 1, 1929_ **

_Happy New Year! (I just felt like it’d be right to wish you. It seems kind of silly)._

The sound of shuffling footsteps draws Steve out of his spell and he carefully closes the journal, sliding it under a pile of papers. He gives what he hopes is a casual grin at Tony, who looks disgruntled as per routine. But Tony knows him too well for that and raises his eyebrow, collapsing in a dishevelled blanket covered heap on his bed.

“Were you looking at porn?” Tony asks.

“What? No!” Steve stammers, his cheeks uncomfortably hot. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Tony about this, but something’s stopping him from revealing his findings just yet.

Laughing, Tony burrows further into his blankets. “Relax, I know you’re too much of a boy-scout to look at that stuff when you have company over. Even if said company wouldn’t mind at all. So are you planning to tell me what’s got you all shifty?”

“It’s nothing, really Tony.” Steve says, trying to will the flush away from his cheeks.

Tony looks unconvinced.

“Alright,” he drawls out finally, “Just make sure you tell me about this _nothing_ if it keeps bothering you in the future. I don’t want a repeat of the Rumlow incident if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not like that.” Steve says immediately. He chews at his lip before saying, “Give me a week ok? Just to figure this out. And then you’ll be the first person I tell. You know that.”

His snarky reply is cut off by the first strains of an AC/DC song. When Tony’s face falls the second he looks at his phone screen, Steve knows exactly who it is.

“What’s he have to say this time?” he ventures cautiously, knowing a message from his father could send Tony into a fit of poorly concealed anger.

“He’s going away apparently, on business. It was sudden, so he didn’t have much notice. He just left.”

“Did he say where he’s going or when he’ll be back?”

“Not a word.”

Steve turns around fully.

That’s strange even for Howard Stark. Although the wealthy man has a penchant for not keeping to his timings he usually gives Tony at least a rough idea of when he’ll be home.

Tugging the blanket around him tighter, Tony asks, almost self-consciously.

“Hey Steve, you’re still free this weekend right?”

Steve moves to sit on the bed next to Tony, before flopping down unceremoniously and resting his head on the other’s stomach.

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss your presentation for the world. And you know Sam and Riley are coming with me too! Plus, Ma’s going to want pictures. You’ve been working so hard on this project for your robotics class, there’s no way I’d miss it.”

With an uncharacteristically soft smile, Tony mutters his thanks, before switching gears and imperiously announcing that he’s going to hibernate for a good long while and if Steve’s here he might as well make himself useful and pull up a movie for them to watch.

Laughing and pretending to mock bow as he follows Tony’s orders, the journal is once again thrown from Steve’s thoughts.

***London, England***

His fingers steepled under his chin, Howard listens impassively to the man in front of him. They’re a small group, just five people. SHIELD can’t afford to have the wrong person stumble upon what they’re talking about. The results could prove to be disastrous. But, as his head throbs, what they’re suggesting, it’s not just preposterous, it’s impossible.

The man in front of him, a quiet, distinguished agent wearing a pristinely pressed black suit, seems to share his disbelief.

“What you’re suggesting, Dr. Selvig, well you can surely understand why we might be a bit sceptical.”

“I know it sounds absurd, I couldn’t believe it myself. But I’ve rechecked my calculations and the data multiple times. Not to mention the eyewitness accounts.”

“We tend not to put a lot of faith in eyewitness accounts.” The agent’s voice is like sharpened steel.

Howard sighs and resists the urge to massage his temples.

This was going to be a long week.

* * *

 

 **Author’s Notes:**                                                            

I know I vanished for a bit, but I moved back home and now am completely aimless once again! So I figured, why not get back to writing?

Historical and other notes about this chapter:

As per MCU verse, Bucky was born on March 10, 1917, which makes the journal a birthday present for his eleventh birthday. The Barnes’ family in this verse are Jewish but I won’t be going into detail about this because I’m not Jewish myself, so I don’t want to mess something up.

However, as per my notes, in the 1920s, anti-semitism was on the rise in parts of Europe and the USA. In the US, certain stereotypes as well as comics perpetuated anti-semitic myths, and in parts of Europe, such as Hungary, anti-semitic activities, although not allowed legally weren’t really punished. A lot of frustrations stemmed from fears Europeans and often Americans had of migrants from Southern European countries ‘invading’ their homeland.

That explains some of the tensions in Bucky’s initial entries.

As per my understanding, Jewish people don’t refer to God as God (correct me if I’m wrong!) but Bucky’s still a kid and in this verse, his mother is trying to raise him to fit into society, which creates a rift between her and her husband.

Rosen is short for Rosenthal. According to an article I found, Jewish surnames were often Americanised in the 1920’s to avoid undue hatred.

Hitler made his first attempt to take over the German government in the early 1920s and his book, Mein Kampf, was published in 1927. (He successfully gained more power in 1933, which is shortly before the second world war).

On a lighter note, Milk Duds and Reese’s actually existed in the 1920s! Milk Duds came out in 1926  and Reese’s Peanut butter cups were released in 1928.

There won’t be much more reference to Bucky’s roots after this because I’m completely out of depth in this and don’t want to offend anybody!

* * *

I'm on tumblr! Come say [hi!](http://everydayindian.tumblr.com/) We can flail over cute animals and food pictures.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there's any glaring mistakes I've made!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve bumps into a stranger in an alleyway who follows him back home. Except this stranger might not be so strange after all.
> 
> Meanwhile Howard makes a worrying discovery about the identity of Captain America and his slightly murderous alter-ego

***London, England***

“There’s been another sighting,” Dr. Selvig’s voice says nervously as he addresses the small group.

“Where?” asks the man sitting next to Howard. His name is Alexander Pierce, he’s apparently someone who occupies a high ranking position in SHIELD and affords a great deal of respect. At least that’s what the agent, Coulson, he said his name was, had mentioned. But there’s something about the coldness in his voice and the ice in his eyes that make him nervous. Almost as though he can’t quite trust the other man.

“Manhattan,” declares the sole woman in the room, her fiery red hair pulled into a tight bun. When she had walked in alongside Coulson, Howard had initially been drawn to her slender figure and pretty face. It’s quickly evident though, that if she wants to, she could incapacitate him in only a matter of a few minutes. When asked the relevance of having her here, Coulson had calmly remarked, “She’s one of my best agents. She’s also one of the few people alive who can say that they’ve encountered the famed Winter Soldier and lived.”

Pierce had stiffened beside him when he heard that name.                                                                                                                                 

“Who’s the Winter Soldier?” Howard asks curiously.

“The Winter Soldier, also called Soldat, was a highly trained assassin that used to work for HYDRA. SHIELD has little to no information on him, in fact, in most circles, it’s almost as though the man didn’t exist. It was generally said that once the Winter Soldier set his sights on you, you might as well starting digging your grave.”

“All of that’s fine,” Howard says, “But what does this have to do with why we’re here today?”

“The Winter Soldier first was sighted in early August 1945, a few months after Captain America brought the Valkyrie down into the sea. Before that, there are no mentions of him anywhere. Recent details unearthed over the last few months combined with recent findings have alluded to the identity of the Winter Soldier beneath the mask.”

Coulson looks at Natasha briefly before nodding, “We now have reason to believe that the name of the man behind the mask was James Buchanan Barnes.”

Howard splutters, “I’m sorry what?”

“You heard me Mr. Stark.”

“Either that’s a really strange coincidence in terms of the name or…”

“Or the Winter Soldier and Captain America were in fact the same person.” Coulson confirms, his voice grim.

“Either way,” Pierce cuts in, Howard notices his white knuckled grip on the pen in front of him, “Don’t we have more important things to discuss. Like the fact that the Winter Soldier, or as evidence seems to be pointing towards, Captain America, has been sighted at Manhattan.”

“Yes, but why Manhattan?” Selvig asks quizzically.

“That’s simple,” Natasha says, twirling a pen in her hand. Somehow the way she does it, it makes him think of unsavoury people being stabbed like unsuspecting kebabs.

“He’s heading back to Brooklyn.”

“Do we have people in Brooklyn?” Pierce asks Coulson.

“We do Sir, but right now the idea that he’s in Brooklyn is only just conjecture. We don’t have any proof and as far as we’re aware, there haven’t been any confirmed sightings in the city yet.”

“And the previous witness has been dealt with?”

“No trace of him anywhere.”

“How in the hell did he evade all our intelligence agencies for the last 70 years?” Howard asks incredulously. “And why was he in HYDRA? Look I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve seen the old documents from the super serum project. Dad was one of the few people who ever had the privilege to meet him. He didn’t exactly seem the sort to go rogue on us. And more importantly, why hasn’t he searched for anyone?”

“This is just an assumption again, but we’re under the impression that his involvement with HYDRA wasn’t entirely voluntary. And I don’t know about you, but it wasn’t all too uncommon for soldiers to be left with PTSD and paranoia after the war.”

“So what you’re saying,” Howard says slowly, summing up the thoughts of everyone in the room, “Is that we potentially have a confused, possibly aggressive and volatile, super-soldier-slash-assassin who’s supposed to be dead wandering the streets of Brooklyn? Except no one knows where he is and how dangerous he might be?”

The room is silent.

“Well that’s excellent! I don’t know about you but I’m in definite need of copious amounts of alcohol.”

***Brooklyn***

“Tony, I need to get actual food for this week.”

“This is food!”

“Food that isn’t laden with enough sugar and fat to send my heart into over-drive.”

“Why can’t we get both?” Tony whines, hugging the box of Lucky Charms to his chest. Steve gives him a pointed glare, rolls his eyes and replies, “I can’t get both because not only do I not have the space for it, I also can’t afford it this week. Not with those print-outs I need to take for some of my art classes and the fact I’m going to need a new set of oil paints very, very soon.”

Tony looks shamefaced at him, he hates bringing up the difference in their financial situations no matter how accidentally it is. He’s offered to help Steve out, especially because he spends copious amounts of time at his apartment, but Steve’s always refused. Sure it’s a frugal existence, but it’d go against his principles to accept handouts from the other.

They check out their groceries (his groceries) and head back to his apartment, Tony planning on spending the day there, when Steve notices a lone figure in the alleyway.

For some reason he pauses, Tony still walking further, not noticing his companion was no longer by his side.

Steve recognizes the pinched look on the stranger’s face, he and his mum had been through their share of hard times. The strange man has brown hair that lays messily on his face, falling almost till his shoulders. His face is marked with dust but his blue eyes are surprisingly sharp and wary.

His clothes are non-descript, a torn and dirt-stained pair of jeans, combat boots and a deep blue sweatshirt.

By now he’s noticed Steve’s attention and he stiffens, holding himself upright with almost military precision. He takes a step back when something in his sweatshirt starts moving. He blinks for a second, as though startled and Steve watches a tiny furry head pops up from his neckline.

The tiny white kitten seems immune to the tension and licks the man’s jawline, causing him to glance down with softened eyes.

He looks back at Steve, the same wariness in his eyes again but Steve’s already  made up his mind. He makes his toward the man, slowly and steadily maintaining eye contact. When he’s close enough, he reaches into his grocery bag, watching the other man tense up, before he pulls out the bread and milk he’d just bought. Carefully, he places them down near the man and quietly backs away. He doesn’t look back till he’s halfway down the street, where Tony’s stopped and is staring at him confusedly.

When he does, he sees that the man is now holding both the objects he’d left behind, turning them over with a confused eye, as though he can’t fathom what just happened.

Steve’s not sure he can fathom what just happened either.

Tony pulls him away, the sky now dark with clouds that threaten to burst any second.

If they’d waited half a second longer, they’d have seen the man try and call out to Steve, his fallen wallet in his outstretched hand.

Half an hour later Sam’s probably an inch away from hitting him with a rolling pin. Tony is leaning against the counter with his arms folded.

“Man, do you have idea how stupid what you did was? I understand why you did it, but next time at least take Tony with you.”

Steve just shrugs and Sam throws his hands up into the air, and storms away saying something about tiny angry blonds who are bad for his blood pressure.

“I’m not tiny!” Steve shouts back, bristling from his spot on the sofa.

“Bite me!” Sam calls back.

“He’s just worried about you,” Tony says, “Sometimes you want to do the right thing, but it’s not always safe.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly, “I just… there was something about him, almost like I knew him from somewhere. And he looked so hungry. I couldn’t, I couldn’t let him starve.”

“I know,” says Tony, sitting next to him and bumping their shoulders together.

“Just next time you get these urges, make sure you’re not alone ok. All I’m asking is for a little more prudence.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll take it.”

Later that evening, Tony’s gone back home and Sam’s gone out to dinner with some friends. Steve’s made himself a pot of spaghetti and he’s pulling up some movies on his laptop when there’s a tentative knock at his door. He freezes, unsure of whether he’s heard correctly or not, but then it sounds again and he hesitantly opens the door, freezing with what he sees.

The strange man from before is standing outside, but he’s drenched from the rain outside. The furry lump has shifted deeper into his clothes and Steve suppresses a shiver of his own as he watches his shudder with the chill.

Before he can say anything, the other man holds out his hand and Steve gapes as he sees his wallet there.

“Did I drop this?” he asks, “Did you come all this way to give it back to me?”

The man looks uncomfortable and shuffles awkwardly, not saying anything. For the first time, Steve considers the possibility that he’s not replying simply because he can’t.

He pushes his hand forward again as though urging Steve to take his wallet back.

As he takes it from him, Steve notices another shudder pass through the man and watches the kitten before pop up again, it’s small drenched ears flattened against his head. It mewls pitifully at him and the man carefully pats his head, trying to pacify it. He turns away but Steve calls out before he can stop himself.

“It’s cold out there, and I don’t know about you but that poor thing can’t take much more of that weather. If you want, you can come inside until the storm is over.”

Startled blue eyes stare back at him, but Steve urges him inside.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve says, “I want to get some towels for you two.”

And a spare change of clothes, he thinks to himself, noticing his lips have starting turning an alarming shade of blue.

When he returns, he finds the man standing in the same spot he left them, shivering violently now with the cat cradled in his arms.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asks, “Come inside and sit down, the last thing I need is for you to collapse from hypothermia.”

He ushers the man to the sofa, tossing a thick towel and the change of clothes at him. It’s not much, a spare change of boxers, an oversize sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants that were Sam’s. Unlike Steve, this man is built like a tank and there’s no way any of his regular clothing would fit him.

Any fear that the giant would hurt Steve is wiped away as he almost reverently rubs the towel against his face, his eyes wide with wonder. The kittens paws at Steve’s ankle, mewling pathetically again and Steve quickly bundles it up in a thick towel and begins to dry it. It squirms a bit but Steve persists, making sure it’s no longer shivering before using some thick towels and an old shirt to make a tiny nest for it. It walks in circles, kneading some areas appreciatively before curling up to go to sleep.

In front of him, it’s owner’s finished towelling himself dry and Steve has to suppress his laughter at the way his brown hair stands atop his head, fluffy and soft and frizzy.

“I’ll give you some privacy to change,” he says kindly, picking up the wet towels to hang up to dry.

By the time he’s back, the man’s changed, and the new clothing stretches tight over his body. Steve swallows thickly, because although he had suspected the other might be bigger built, this went beyond his wildest expectations. He squashes down any inappropriate thoughts and sits opposite him. The man watches him warily, as though expecting Steve to attack him, which should be hilarious given how tiny he is, but instead is heart-breaking.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly, and it takes a while but soon he relaxes a bit, although his eyes never leave Steve.

After an hour passes, he leans forward and begins to slowly trace letters out on the coffee table in front of him.

A B followed by a U, then a C, K and a Y.

Steve blinks and stares back at him. Bucky? What was that meant to mean?

His confusion must show on his face because a few seconds later he points, first at the word on the table and then at himself.

“Your name?” asks Steve, unsure if he’s understood it wrong.

Slowly, tentatively, the man, Bucky, nods.

“I’m Steve,” he says slowly, smiling at him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

About an hour later, he drifts off into a restless sleep, it’s evident how exhausted he is. But Steve can’t sleep, still trying to figure out how to explain this latest turn of events to Sam and Tony.

He looks over at Bucky again when it strikes him.

Bucky.

 _Bucky_.

He thinks back to the strange journal that he found.

It couldn’t be….could it? No, it had to be a coincidence.

He stares back at the sleeping figure in front of him, all thoughts of tiredness now erased from his mind.

** *Notes* **

Most of my stories are on a major hiatus right now because I got an internship a lot faster than I anticipated. Unfortunately I’m out of my house from before 7 in the morning and get home after 8, which doesn’t leave a lot of time for writing.

Side note about the altered time-line for this story – Although in the initial story, Howard was technically the one directly involved in the super serum project, in this version, that was his father. It’s purely an aesthetic reason, in that if I had kept it as Howard, he’d be older than 90 years. As per this story, it’s his father, who then passed on this first-hand account to Howard.

Also, so contrary to the current state of affairs in MCU where you know literally everything about the Avengers, inn this arc, although the public is fully aware of the existence of Captain America, certain details are kept secret.

For instance his actual name and face behind the mask.

SHIELD still isn’t aware of the fact that Pierce is freakishly evil.

Other than that, yes, Bucky was both Captain America and Winter Soldier. More details about that in the actual course of the story (potentially). I am honestly thinking about pitching a tent at my office and staying overnight.

Quick note, but thanks to a kind reviewer who pointed out that I needed to tweak the prices in the previous chapter. I’ve reduced the prices substantially but I’m not too sure if the changes took (one of the many downsides of having terrible internet plans). But thank you for mentioning it!

**Author's Note:**

> This a repost of something I already started, but I've tweaked it, because I felt there needed to be some massive changes in where I wanted to take it.


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